Beating Like a Hammer
by synapse09
Summary: Stiles wakes up the morning after the rave and realizes that the trick with the mountain ash really shouldn't have worked. And because Stiles doesn't realize when to leave well enough alone, he discovers a whole mess of secrets that make his life even more complicated. Dresden/Teen Wolf Crossover, eventual Sterek.
1. Chapter 1

Beating Like a Hammer  
An AU Teen Wolf/Dresden Files crossover

A/N: Spoilers for Season 2, canon through 2.08. Eventual, slow-build Sterek. Rating is mostly for gore and violence at this point. Also, if you don't read The Dresden Files, this might be a bit confusing to follow… but I'll try to explain where I can.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Making no profit… just spinning them around for pure entertainment value!

Chapter One:

The first thing that runs through Stiles' mind that morning when he wakes up (half tangled in the sheets, most of his limbs splayed out over the edge of the mattress and his face smushed into the contours of his pillow) is that he's really, _really_ hungry.

Like, could eat a wolf, hungry. And now he's imagining little Scott and Derek shaped animal crackers.

And isn't that just the worst mental image ever? Stiles makes a face at himself and groans, flopping over onto his back. This is followed swiftly by a yawn and then he turns to look at his clock. It's Saturday, it's eleven o'clock in the morning and… shit! He's going to be late to his meeting with Scott!

Stiles scrambles out of bed - which is more of an undignified thump-thud of limbs tangling and impacting harshly with his floor - and into the bathroom. He showers as quickly as he can and then brushes his teeth. Hygiene taken care of, Stiles makes his way downstairs to the kitchen and finds a note from his dad.

He winces at the guilt that lances through his gut when he thinks about the almost-conversation they'd had last night. He's pretty much the worst son ever. But he'll find a way to make it up to his dad – because he's Stiles and that means he's amazing at planning things like this. He just… needs a plan. And breakfast, because even Stiles can't be amazingly brilliant on an empty stomach.

Stiles goes about making himself breakfast (French toast, because there's no one here to tell him _not_ to pig out on sugary breakfast foods) and attempts to make some sort of plot to get his dad his job back. He briefly entertains the notion of sweet-talking the station manager into helping him, but quickly nixes the idea. The station manager is somehow immune to his charms. Stiles is appalled by this, and has convinced himself it has nothing to do with that time he accidentally dyed her poodle's fur bright orange. (In his defense, that poodle had it coming – and orange was totally an in color that season.)

His thoughts are waylaid, however, by the errant reminder of what actually happened last night. There's a whole lot of information to process because what happened? Was… a lot to process. And Stiles hasn't had his coffee yet, so he can't be blamed for not thinking at full capacity. He absently reaches into the cabinet for the Folgers in order to remedy the situation.

And that stuff he did with the mountain ash dust, Stiles thinks (because his brain just refuses to stop, even when it's half asleep). That was amazing and really, really unbelievable. Like, there was no way that could or should have happened.

Stiles flips the bread in the frying pan, chewing on his lower lip in idle thought. He had always wondered if there was more to him than normal. Because really, who attracted so many supernatural creatures into their life (other than Buffy… but that was really mostly the Hell Mouth, not _her_, and also the fact that she was a fictional character, so…) Stiles starts piling his breakfast onto his plate and carries it – and the coffee he _so_ does not remember making (his subconscious is amazing!) – to the kitchen table.

He's just about to shovel the third bite of sugary, maple-flavored goodness into his mouth when the patio door explodes in a shower of glass and wood. Stiles isn't sure if the terrified scream that echoes throughout the house is from him or the really, _really_ slimy, ugly creature that's now glaring at him from the other side of the table.

Seriously. There's glass and wood all over the kitchen now (his dad is so going to kill him), and the creature is just staring at him in all of its green, grey and brown slime-covered glory. And _wow_ this thing has a lot of eyes.

"What the ever loving –" He starts. The creature – and Stiles thinks that it kind of looks like a toad, actually, and then remembers that this is totally not time for an internal monologue – makes a strange, garbled croaking noise that sounds like it's trying to speak. Stiles isn't sure about that (though it wouldn't surprise him…and what does _that_ say about his life?)

What he is sure about, however, is the pure disgust and terror running through his veins as the Stiles-sized thing slobbers all over the kitchen tiles and starts to advance on him while leaving a gooey, pungent residue behind. Stiles thinks, once again, that his dad is so going to kill him when he gets home.

That is, if Stiles survives whatever this creature has in mind and why the hell isn't he running yet?

Stiles' flight or fight instincts finally wrangle control of his brain and he bolts. His legs and arms flail as he dashes into the next room, hearing the toad-thing croak out a roar of rage… and holy shit, how fast are these things, anyway? The toad-thing is on his heels, reaching out for him with its man-sized hands and licking its lips in what Stiles can only assume is hunger. He isn't sticking around to double check.

Stiles makes it to the door and grabs his keys; in a matter of seconds (his personal best, if he were focused on anything other than _ohmygodthatthingwantstoeatme !_) he's out the door and in his Jeep, peeling out of his driveway like there's an evil, man-eating, slime-oozing toad thing on his heels.

Oh, wait, there is.

Not that the toad-thing is necessarily _evil_… he's just not convinced that something that appears to want to eat him _isn't_ evil. Excluding Derek, of course.

And because he suddenly remembers that he has his own super-team at his disposal, Stiles stumbles for his phone. Except that he didn't grab his phone (damn it!) and he didn't suddenly gain telepathy last night. Which would have been awesome, by the way, but so not the issue at hand.

The toad-thing is gaining on him and Stiles can feel his heart racing as he guns it, guiding the Jeep on pure instinct as his eyes dart constantly to the mirror, refusing to let the ugly creature from the black lagoon out of his sight. Because if any of the neighbors see it, there will be a whole other set of problems on his hands and he thinks he's justified in thinking his plate is a little full at the moment.

Before he knows it, he's turning off onto the side street that will take him to the wolf pack's hide-out, aka Bat Cave (he's still trying to get the moniker to stick.) Stiles prays to every deity he can think of (including a few he's pretty sure are fictional – thanks, WoW) that at least Derek (especially Derek) will be home.

Because dying in the abandoned subway platform? Not his idea of an ideal ending. Not that any ending of Stiles would be ideal, but he's just saying… not on his list of choices.

Stiles parks the Jeep and is out of it without even bothering to shut the door behind him, his legs pumping and heart racing as he gets to the door. And then he's slamming it behind him, turning and running down the steps and – into a very warm, very solid and very comforting body.

"Derek!" Stiles nearly sobs in relief, barely controlling his urge to throw his arms around the scowling werewolf. He doesn't think the gesture would be interpreted correctly, nor appreciated. See? He does have a survival instinct!

The harsh thud of flesh hitting the steel door – repeatedly – reaches their ears and Stiles backs away from Derek, noting the look of disgust on his face.

"Stiles, what the hell is that smell?" The alpha continues to ignore the door, his face scrunched as if he's trying to avoid the stench.

"Um. Giant toad?" Stiles tries. Derek continues to scowl and turns his attention to the doorway at the top of the stairs. The thudding is growing louder, and there's a dent in the door. Stiles really hopes that Derek doesn't expect him to pay for damages rendered.

"You smell like a sewer."

"Well thanks," He snarks, crossing his arms and huffing (and totally realizing that he's in his boxers and a t-shirt in front of Derek Hale and oh god, really? How is this his life?)

Derek doesn't respond – per usual – but makes his way toward the door, eyes narrowing and a low growl escaping his throat. Stiles (who has apparently lost his survival instinct, just in case you were wondering) reaches out and grabs his arm. Derek turns to him with a raised brow and glances down at his hand, then back up at his face. Stiles lets him go.

"I wouldn't recommend going up there." He says, fingers still tingling where he'd touched Derek's bare skin. And yeah, he's also not going to complain about how awesome Derek looks in jeans and a tank top…. Nope. And he's not going to dwell on the thought that he's even thinking about how Derek looks, either. So not the time or place, especially with the thuds and – the thuds have stopped. That can't be good.

"Whatever's out there is trying to destroy my -" Derek's words are cut off when the thing is no longer trying and has actually succeeded in ripping back the door. And now they're both staring, wide-eyed at the man-sized toad-thing that is hobbling it's way down the steps toward them. It has its eyes trained on Stiles, but when it notices Derek, it hesitates. That's the only pause that Derek needs to start shifting.

The thing makes a nasty, croaky sort of battle cry and glares at Derek. Derek bares his fangs and roars back a challenge, shoving Stiles back behind him (and Stiles will not think about how it doesn't bother him as much as it should that he's the damsel here. Derek can save his sweet ass any time and speaking of sweet asses, the view from here…)

The creature lunges and Derek ducks, swings out with his claws and there's a gooey, icky mess of, well, _goo_, splattering across the cement. The creature whirls back, pain lacing its angry howls and there are large slices missing from its slime-coated hide. Derek is still snarling and the two are crouching, neither giving an inch.

Stiles peeks around Derek to eye the thing and it apparently can't resist temptation (or it really is just that dumb) because it lunges again and Derek reaches out, clothes lining the thing and neatly ripping its throat out _and_ disemboweling it.

Neatly. All at the same time.

And Stiles is never, ever going to be able to look at Derek the same way ever again because that? Was both the most disturbing, disgusting and badass thing he's ever seen.

There's silence in the room now, with Derek's chest and shoulders heaving as he drags in air and calms his raging, 'battle ready' alpha into 'normal raging' alpha and Stiles tries to not lose what little breakfast he ate because the sight and smell of that dead thing? Yeah. It's… he's going to hurl.

Derek looks over his shoulder at him, shifting his muscles in what could be termed a casual shrug if Stiles didn't know better. He's still crazy tense. "You alright?"

"Mm." Stiles can barely form words. "Pea- peachy." Derek grunts and then he disappears into a closet (that Stiles honestly had never noticed before) before returning just as quickly with a giant snow shovel. He then proceeds to scoop the entire mess of toad and entrails and goo into a single pile. He then strikes a match (where was he getting this stuff, anyway? Was he freaking McGyver now?) and drops it onto the pile. There's a strange purpley smoke that rises from the remains.

Derek turns back to him, scowl firmly in place. "Stiles." He says.

And suddenly Stiles is babbling, not even sure _what_ he's saying. "I have no idea, dude. All I did was wake up hungry this morning and attempt to eat some French toast and have some coffee… which I'm sure is totally ruined by now." He doesn't even pause when he glares balefully at the flaming pile of toad. "But no! Apparently that's too much normalcy for my life because the next thing I know that… that THING is breaking through my back door and… oh _shit_! My dad is going to kill me and he's already…"

"Stiles," Derek growls, suddenly much closer.

"… And I really, really don't have any idea…." And now he's been slammed up against the subway car and Derek is glaring again. Not that he ever stopped glaring, but this one is more of a scowl.

"Stiles. Shut up."

"Shutting up." Stiles says, closing his mouth and swallowing with an obvious click. How is it that Derek doesn't even have any of the crazy goo stuff on him? Seriously, the universe hates Stiles. He's got so much clean up to do when he gets home. He doesn't think that bleach will be strong enough to cover the smell, but maybe if can get to the station and borrow some of their awesome blood-removing cleanser…

"Stiles!" Derek shakes him and Stiles winces, focuses.

"Sorry, what?"

Derek releases him and sighs, turning to stare at the flames.

"What the hell was that thing?" Stiles finally manages.

"I have no idea."

Seriously, Stiles thinks, _how_ is this his life? And because his brain just doesn't know how to quit when it's ahead, Stiles blurts the last thought that runs through his brain.

"Hey Derek?"

Derek grunts.

"Do they make wolf shaped animal crackers?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: There are so many other things I should be doing right now… but it just keeps flowing! Also, thank you for the reviews :) Glad to know I'm doing something right and that you're all enjoying this!

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Well, except for the typos. No beta, just me!

Chapter Two:

The first thing that Stiles does when he gets home is go straight up the stairs and take a shower. He peels the t-shirt and boxers off with care, wincing as the goo covered clothing clings to his skin and then lands with a sickening _thump_ on the bathroom floor. He can't even think about washing them – he'll just add them to the burn pile out back. It'll save him a lot of effort and explanation for when his dad gets home. That's a conversation he is so not looking forward to.

He showers longer than absolutely necessary; he isn't taking any chances in letting that stuff linger on his flesh. And no, he does not feel like using almost the entire bar of soap, nor a whole bottle of shampoo is excessive. He's just very… thorough. Also, it smells good and he secretly loves the feel of the scrubby thing.

Finally satisfied that all of the goo and stench is off of his body, Stiles pulls on clean clothing (fully getting dressed this time, just in case) and then steels himself for heading downstairs to clean up the mess that was his kitchen.

Except that when he gets to the kitchen, it's like he's stepped into the twilight zone. There's no ooze on anything, there's no glass or wood on the floor and his patio door? Neatly closed and without a single scratch on it. Stiles blinks, turns around and leaves the room. He counts to ten, straightens his shoulders and walks back into the kitchen.

Nope. Still in the twilight zone. Awesome, then.

Stiles pauses in his steadily approaching panic attack (because there is _no way_ that he imagined this morning!) when he registers the sound of his phone ringing. His phone, thankfully, is where he'd left it on the counter during his mad dash out the door. It's still covered in goo (which he's also strangely relieved about – proof positive that he isn't going crazy) but clearly functioning. He uses a single finger to gingerly touch the 'accept' button and then put the call on speaker.

At least that's what Stiles attempts to accomplish. His cell phone, apparently, has different ideas. The voice that comes through the speakers is garbled as though traveling through a tunnel. Stiles leans closer, reading the name on the caller id and cursing his luck.

"Scott? Scott, can you hear me?" Stiles' phone makes a truly unnatural and undignified screech and then simply _dies_. Stiles pokes at it, jumping back as a spark flicks from the phone and the device continues to sit mocking him. It's his third cell phone this month and man he is so beyond dead when his dad gets home...

"Well that's just lovely." Stiles rolls his eyes with a sigh. Knowing Scott, the dropped call will be a signal to come over. All he has to do now is wait. But waiting is something that Stiles has never really mastered, so after a good thirty seconds of standing still, he starts to fidget. Then he starts to pace; then Stiles remembers that he didn't get to finish his breakfast and he is ravenous.

Stiles goes about making his new cup of coffee, settling on pop tarts (why bother to cook when something supernatural is just going to come crashing through your door like the Kool Aide pitcher?) instead of anything fancy. He puts his freshly poured – and unfortunately now cold – cup of coffee into the microwave and hits the buttons. It tings happily at him and then begins to make a low whirring noise that is increasingly getting louder and louder…

Stiles jumps back behind the counter in time to cover his face with his hands as the microwave makes a tremendous _boom_ and then simply ceases to do anything other than fizzle softly. Stiles pokes his head up and over the rim of the counter to see the coffee mug exploded inside of the microwave and the appliance itself is… smoking.

And really, _really_ dead. Like, more dead than his now defunct cell phone, which he didn't think was possible.

"This day," he mumbles as he stands, "just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" And because he's apparently a complete idiot, Stiles throws in for good measure, "Come on, universe… what else do you have to throw at me this morning? But just be warned that I haven't had my Wheaties, so I'm a bit grumpy!" Speaking of… Stiles grabs his uncooked pop tarts from the toaster (no sense in tempting fate again) and proceeds to eat them cold. It's not appealing but it's food.

Two minutes later as he's wiping the crumbs from his fingers, Stiles hears a familiar _thump-thud-"Ow, shit!"-scuddle-thump_ from upstairs. Scott appears in the kitchen doorway a few seconds later, sporting a rapidly healing bump on his forehead that Stiles politely ignores in favor of freaking out over the death of his appliances.

"Oh my _god_, Scott, you have no idea what I've been through this morning. It's like the twilight zone and the outer limits and close encounters – minus the actual aliens, I think, jury's still out on that one – all wrapped up into one. I really didn't think there was anything I couldn't handle with the way this past year has been going, but dude seriously? There is only so much a guy can take before he starts to wonder if he's turning into Buffy Summers or … wait, does that make you Oz? And I guess Allison could be Willow, though if – "

"Stiles?" Scott interjects. "What the hell is that smell?"

"…and I'm not really built for that you know? And seriously? That's what you're getting from this?" Stiles pauses, brow arching in a decent impression of Derek. Scott shrugs.

"Well, um… yes?"

"Unbelievable." He throws his hands up. "That smell is what happened to me this morning."

"You got dumped in a sewer?"

"No! That's just… ew. No, what happened was that I was minding my own business, eating breakfast and some disgusting toad-thing totally Kool Aided into my kitchen and chased me down to _eat_ _me_ and I got to Derek in time for Derek to eviscerate the thing. Which seriously, remind me to never piss him off that much. Dude is wicked efficient with his claws, man. And then…"

"_Oh my god_," Scott says, eyes wide.

"I know! And that's not even the weirdest part, believe it or not. I know you're skeptical, but really, trust me on this one. So I come home expecting wood and glass and goo – which is still all over my dead cell phone, by the way – to be all over the kitchen but no!"

There's silence for a moment, and then, "You're complaining because your kitchen _isn't_ a mess?"

"Yes. I mean, no… dude, it's the principle of the thing. I'm upset because I don't know _why_ my kitchen isn't in the state I left it in. It's like… fairies or something."

Scott snorts. "Fairies?"

"I don't know, man. You have any better theories?" Stiles says, throwing his arms wide. "Oh, and my appliances and phone apparently got some kind of memo this morning because they've all gone boom!"

Scott is watching him with his head tilted. "Stiles, how much coffee have you had this morning?"

"None," He grouses, full on pouting and glaring at the microwave. "Unfortunately."

"You sure about that? 'cause this is sounding…"

"You don't believe me?" Now Stiles is incredulous.

"I didn't say that! I'm just – look, I come over, you start ranting and except for the smell you're talking about? I don't see anything wrong… other than your burnt out microwave, which could just be explained by your mad skills with kitchen appliances."

Stiles is full on glaring at him when he finishes. "You done?" Scott nods. "Awesome. So you're totally ignoring the fact that there's goo on my cell phone right now?"

Both boys turn to look at the device in question and Stiles literally pales because the goo? Also suddenly gone! What the _hell_?

"Um, Stiles? Did you maybe inhale some of the dust last night at the rave?" Scott asks warily.

"No! Dude, seriously, this is so fucked up… call Derek. He saw the thing, the slime, all of it! If you don't believe me, at least listen to him. The freaking toad thing took out the steel door at the Bat Cave and – did you know that Derek has a snow shovel?"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Scott says, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts. He dials Derek and they wait, Scott patiently and Stiles twining and twisting his fingers, for Derek to answer.

"What?" Is the gruff reply through the speaker phone.

"Hey man, it's Scott."

"I know." There's an exasperated sigh in that response. Stiles snickers.

"And Stiles." Scott adds, oblivious.

"I figured."

"Right. Um. So we're at his house and – "

"Derek, it's gone," Stiles interrupts. "The goo, the glass, the wood… everything is _clean_, as if it never happened."

There's silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere."

"Well that answered everything." Scott's voice is dripping in sarcasm (and Stiles would be proud, he would, except he's still too busy internally freaking out). "What next? Am I going to find fairies in your closet?"

Stiles blinks, "Is that some sort of slander, dude? 'cause that is so not cool…"

"No, I meant like actual faeries." Scott hurries to amend. "You know… wings, glitter… Tinkerbell? And I just - what?!"

"Yeah, pretty sure those don't exist." Stiles pauses and then corrects his statement. "Then again, I didn't think giant toad-things or _werewolves_, for that matter, existed either. So apparently I don't know anything."

The sound of a firm _thud_, followed by the confident pounding of footsteps on the stairs heralds the arrival of Derek. Scott grumps at him (most likely jealous of his ability to enter houses without injuring himself) but still greets him with a nod. Derek nods back and then turns to Stiles, scowl firmly in place.

"It still smells –"

"Like a sewer, I know." Stiles waves a hand. "Tell me something I don't know."

Derek's brow quirks. "Set any fires recently?"

"Nope. Just watched my phone spark and microwave implode. Typical day in the Stilinski household, but I'm fine, thanks for asking." Stiles huffs and then moves as Derek brushes past him and starts to investigate the kitchen. He runs his hands over everything, eyes focused and nose twitching. A few minutes later he turns to Stiles and his expression is grim.

"You're right."

"Of course I am." Stiles says, rolling is eyes (but inwardly cheering). "About what in particular this time?"

Derek's face shifts into annoyance and he sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "The goo. It's gone."

"Wait, Stiles wasn't making shit up? That stuff actually happened?"

Derek looks at Scott as if he's an idiot (which, best friend status aside, Stiles totally agrees with). It's not a look that Stiles is unused to being on the receiving end of, so it's nice to see it aimed at someone else.

"Yes."

"The goo? The toad-thing… seriously?"

"Did I stutter?"

Stiles snorts and tries to hide his smile but Derek meets his eye – good lord, is that the beginning of a smirk? – and then continues speaking.

"After you left, I was trying to find a way to clean the slime off of the floor. Didn't need to, though, since it just sort of vanished."

"Exactly! It's like it evaporated…" Stiles is both fascinated and disturbed by this realization. He needs to get to his computer and google the shit out of this situation but he's a little terrified to go near his baby when the results of his attempts to use the phone and microwave are still glaring him in the face.

"But that doesn't explain the door." Derek is moving again, uncurling his large frame and striding toward the patio. Stiles and Scott both watch as he traces his fingers over the glass, frowning at it as if he can force it to reveal its secrets. And hey, Stiles is pretty sure that if anyone could accomplish such a feat, it would be Derek. He's scary enough to intimidate inanimate objects, Stiles is sure of it.

"Um, not to point out the obvious, but did anyone find out what the toad-thing was after?"

Stiles turns an incredulous look toward his best friend. "Oh my goodness Scott! How could I have been so stupid! Of course I should have stopped and asked the creature that was trying to _eat me_ what it wanted! Silly Stiles, how could I have missed that opportunity."

"Don't beat yourself up over it –"

"Sarcasm, Scott! Seriously, how are we even friends?"

"Hey! That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair! And don't you dare start harping on me about fair! My life is so much more unnecessarily complicated because of you and I can't even…"

Derek's low growl cuts them off and both teenagers turn to see the alpha's eyes flash red and his focus intent on the front door.

"…Derek, buddy, please tell me that we're not about to see another one of those things."

Derek spares him a brief glare. "We're not about to see another one."

"Oh thank god." Stiles breathes out and then, "Um, what _are_ we about to see?"

"Shut up, Stiles." Derek says instead when there's a knock on the door.

A polite, completely nonthreatening knock on his front door. Which doesn't explain why Scott's hackles are now standing up and he's looking kind of like Derek (minus being not nearly as scary, because Scott is like a Labrador puppy compared to Derek's rot weiler.)

"I, um, should probably answer that." Stiles says instead (another point in the survival instinct column!) and moves around Scott toward the door. Scott reaches out to stop him but Derek's growl makes Scott frown and drop his hand, shooting him a confused look. Stiles is just as thrown off and turns to look at Derek, who is staring back at them with no expression on his face.

"Open the door, Stiles." He commands when there's another knock, a little louder this time. Stiles nods and walks up to the door, bracing himself with a deep breath.

"You have my back, right?" He asks, glancing over his shoulder. Derek meets his eyes and nods, shifting a little closer and rolling his shoulders with a _crack_, his claws coming out to play. And if that makes Stiles feel just a little bit better (and also a little turned on, but he's not touching that one with a ten foot pole) he doesn't say it.

Instead, Stiles takes another deep breath and reaches out, turning the lock and opening the door to see a man and woman staring at him with pleasant smiles on their faces.

"Hello," The man says. "We're looking for Stiles Stilinski. Is this the right address?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: We're starting to get more into the Dresden side of things here. For those who haven't read _Fool Moon_ in a while, remember that there are four different types of wolf shifters. Also, this takes place sometime around _Turn Coat_. I'm taking some liberties. Also, I adore the Fae and the black court. You've been warned. Oh, and Alys is more based off of Maeve than Lea… just to clarify.

Disclaimer: Still own nothing except the typos, and my original characters, Gavin and Alys.

Chapter Three

It turns out that fairies _do_ exist.

Stiles takes to this revelation pretty damn well considering how his morning has gone. Scott does not react so well, mumbling "What -? How -? What -?" He doesn't stop until Derek reaches over and smacks him across the back of the head with enough force to send him sprawling.

Scott glowers up at Derek, but the alpha isn't paying him any attention. Their two guests are still standing in the doorway staring at them with a mixture of amusement, concern, and wariness. Stiles can't blame them, but then, he's not the one with _bright blue skin_, is he?

Of course, maybe the woman isn't a fairy and she's an alien? Or a mutant! Because that would make this situation a whole lot cooler, just saying. Like, Derek could be Wolverine, Scott could be Cyclops and Stiles would totally be Gambit. He sort of really wants to slip away and draw up a diagram of the whole pack as X-Men, because of reasons.

Instead, he gets reprimanded via the sound of a throat clearing and Derek grabbing him by the back of the neck. And – ok, _ow_, Derek! Claws!

"Um," Stiles says. The woman continues to smile at him, but the man rolls his eyes and shifts his stance. He's… kind of short, actually. Five foot five, tops. But he's taller than the woman next to him, so Stiles counts that as a win. Stiles takes in their attire with a raised brow and lord help him, his filter has shut off again.

"Were you two looking for a renaissance faire? Because this town doesn't have one – which if you ask me is a total travesty. They could be banking. But if you get back on the freeway, I hear there's one in –"

Derek growls low in his throat and Stiles shuts up, noting that the man's expression has gone from amused to downright annoyed. The woman is still smiling though it looks a bit more like a smirk now. She swishes her skirt with a coy little laugh.

"No, lovely." She says, tilting her head at him and honest-to-Betsy _cooing_. "We're here for you." And then she freaking licks her lips and -

This causes Derek to full out snarl and Stiles finds himself once again shoved behind the alpha with front row viewing of Derek's fine ass (because hello, he may be in denial but he isn't blind… it is a seriously nice ass). Scott whines and scoots forward, flanking Derek as they stare down the visitors.

Stiles peeks around Derek to see the woman's smirk grow from a fading pout and then she actually claps her hands and _giggles_. The man beside her, however, groans and rubs his face with a familiar (because Stiles has been making this face quite often, lately) expression of 'What even is my life?'

"_Alys_," He hisses. She stops giggling but her smirk remains as she bows her head in deference to him. Stiles watches as she steps back and indicates that the man take over. And he does. Squaring his shoulders and brushing back his cape (see? Totally renaissance faire material here), the man thumps his staff (and holy cow that is a _huge_ staff… pun not intended) against the porch.

"My apologies. We mean Mr. Stilinski no harm." He holds his free hand up in surrender and Derek tenses for a moment before he moves aside, letting Stiles back into the doorway.

"_Can I have one of those, too?"_ Stiles hears the blue-skinned woman – sorry, Alys – ask. The man rolls his eyes. _"No."_ She pouts, but lets him get back to whatever it is they're doing. Because honestly Stiles has no idea if this is an introduction, a hold up, a kidnapping, the scene of an upcoming homicide… selling Girl Scout cookies?

He'd really like it to be the first option and _only_ the first option. Although he really wouldn't mind some Thin Mints right about now. Which reminds him that all he's had today were a couple of pop tarts (and they were cold… and wild berry, which he hates. But no; his dad had eaten all of the cinnamon brown sugar ones and refused to put them on the list _again_.)

"Let's try this again, shall we?" The man says, voice strained. "My name is Gavin O'Connell. I'm a warden of the White Council."

"Um," Stiles says again, because apparently his words have gone the way of the vanishing goo. "Stiles, Stiles Stilinksi." He gestures to the two werewolves beside him. "And this is Derek and Scott." He's kind of glad the rest of the pack isn't here because he still doesn't fully understand what's going on but he has an inkling and it isn't a pleasant one. It's the kind you get right before really bad news; like when you hear that you have a cavity, or that they're out of the newest Batman comic and won't be getting any shipments in for a month and oh yeah, Scott lost his copy because he's a _moron_. Just… yeah. That feeling.

Gavin nods his head at them, shrugging his shoulder – holy shit is that a _sword?_ – and gestures toward Alys. "This is Alys. She's here on behalf of the Winter Court."

"That's… great." Stiles says haltingly. "Not to be rude or anything, because I really, really don't mean any disrespect, but - what? Is David Bowie hiding around the corner? This feels like a bad Labyrinth sequel. You know… with the," He points to, well, _everything_. "The cape, the tight pants, the glitter…"

The man – Gavin – sighs again (and he sounds like Derek who is looking at Stiles like he wants to strangle him) and scratches at his shaggy blonde hair.

"We had hoped you had already figured some of this out. Looks like we have to start from square one. May we come in?" Stiles has to give Gavin props. The man is quick learner in the School of Ignoring Stiles' Random Ramblings. He'll go far.

And although his brain's response is, "Hell no! Not with all of that going on!" and mad gestures toward the blue skin and sword, what Stiles _actually_ says is, "Ok." Because apparently his sense of self-preservation? Gone.

Of course, with Derek hovering so damn close that even Stiles can smell him (leather, some sort of spice – cinnamon, perhaps? – and sweat) Stiles doesn't think these people will have any chance of hurting him.

Not after what he's seen Derek do to a freaking toad monster. He'll be having nightmares about that for years.

Stiles steps back and has to reach out to drag Derek with him because the alpha is not budging. But Derek does follow him, crowding into his personal space and practically sitting on top of him when they get to the kitchen table. Gavin watches the interaction with a quirked brow and Alys looks like she's seriously restraining herself from clapping and giggling again. Scott just follows them and sits down on Stiles' other side with a put-upon huff.

And really? What has _him _in such a bad mood anyway? It isn't like he's the one who has a wizard and… a whatever she is… here to speak to him after what happened that morning. Speaking of, Alys is sniffing the air around her and frowning. Gavin glances at her but quickly turns his attention to Stiles.

"We had hoped that you would be further along in your training," He starts. "Given your control of the lycanthropes."

Derek opens his mouth to protest at the same time Stiles opens his to ask what the hell a lycanthrope is. The glare the alpha sends him when Stiles kicks him in the shin to keep him quiet is totally worth the pain lancing through his foot. It works, though, and Stiles gets his words out. He may regret it later, however, as the look Derek is shooting him promises a slow, painful and bloody demise.

It's probably going to be the nicest offer of death he's likely to get today, however, so he isn't complaining.

And the fact that he's not freaking out right now? Should seriously earn him some brownie points with fate or whoever is controlling his life. He's handling this shit storm like a boss.

"What's a lycanthrope?"

"…seriously?" Gavin asks.

"Yeah, seriously. You've been spouting off a whole lot of confusing information and words that I've never heard anyone use outside a D&D or WoW setting. So spill."

"A lycanthrope is very similar to a werewolf." Gavin explains, one hand resting on his staff, the other coming to rest on top of Alys' fidgeting fingers. She turns a pout on him, but he ignores her. Stiles feels a twinge of empathy, his own limbs itching to squirm.

"Like a werewolf?"

"Yes. Unlike a true werewolf, they don't actually shape-shift. It's… more of a rage-channeling thing."

And Stiles can totally see that, actually. It makes sense, and he's always wondered why none of them ever turned into full on wolves… Derek's sister excluded, of course, but that's a mystery he _still_ can't get Derek to reveal.

"What, so I'm not actually a…" Scott starts. Derek growls at him and Scott glares back but stops talking.

"You are." Derek answers. "They aren't experts."

"Ah –" Alys starts, but Gavin's stare makes her stop.

"Don't be rude," Stiles scolds Derek (who stares at him like he's gone insane… which is entirely possible, given everything that has happened in the past twelve hours.)

"It's fine." Gavin intercedes, regaining their attention. "I'll just start at the beginning, then, shall I?"

And so, three hours later Stiles finds himself immersed in a world that he never even knew existed _all around him_. A world with faeries (like Alys… which is both really creepy and really cool, depending on if she's as crazy as Gavin suggested most Fae creatures are. But he also said she's like, half human too, so maybe she's mostly sane? Stiles is skeptical.)

There are also vampires (but not the Twilight kind, which he is actually really relieved about), wizards (again, pop culture sucks – there is no Hogwarts) demons (of which that toad thing had been one), more than one type of werewolf (sorry, theriomorph… this is going to get crazy, he can tell) and a myriad of other things that go bump in the night and seem to be out to eat people. In all, it's like Disney on crack.

Well, more like Tim Burton, but this is Stiles' internal monologue and there's no one here to counter him. So there.

Oh, and this world is apparently on the brink of war with itself.

Stiles has no idea what any of this has to do with him, aside from discovering that he _is_ a wizard (and that Dr. Deaton had contacted the council requesting a mentor for Stiles… because apparently he needed 'moral guidance'. But then, with friends like Scott and Derek, he can see the reasoning there).

Hence, Gavin O'Connell, warden and wizard of the White Council, code-name Rick (because seriously, the dude looks _just_ like Brendan Fraiser). He's there to teach Stiles all about wizarding and badass magic tricks and whatnot. Oh, and to make sure he doesn't do anything the council considers illegal, cause apparently there's no trial – it's straight to the chopping block for breaking one of their many unwritten, unspoken, _unknown_ rules.

Stiles is rethinking his challenge to the universe from earlier. It's seriously coming back to bite him in the ass.

And then there's Alys, who is apparently Gavin's wife and Stiles' stand-in fairy godmother. Except she's less Blue Fairy and more White Queen from Alice in Wonderland. Because Stiles thinks she really _would_ eat him if Gavin or Derek weren't there to stop her. Speaking of which, she seems to be pretty freaked out by Derek, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to pet him… which will probably lead to bloodshed, but he isn't going to risk his own limbs to save hers.

Which leads him to wonder just how he, Stiles Stilinski, ended up with a freaking fairy godmother. But he does, and she has a duty to protect and teach him. Stiles feels that he's justified in not believing that Alys feels any true obligation to him and is here out of some morbid fascination, instead.

But then, if all he's read about fairies is true, she really _does_ have the obligation to save his frail human, er, _wizard_, hide. It doesn't comfort him any, though, especially when he catches her staring at him with her strange orange eyes glowing and freaking _swirling_.

It's… really, really creepy actually. How could anyone _marry _that?

Luckily for Stiles (at the moment, anyway) Derek has decided to not leave his side _ever again_. Ok, so he didn't come out and say that. But it's implied in his actions and the warning growls he keeps sending to Alys (who keeps freaking giggling and cooing at Derek). It's enough to make Stiles want to grab Derek's hand and shout "Mine!" at her. But he isn't suicidal (yet… give him time. he has yet to explain any of this to his father) so he doesn't.

"Well this has all been incredibly enlightening." Stiles gripes, sliding back into his seat. "And if I don't want any of this?" Which is a total lie because as scary as it sounds, he had felt awesome with the mountain ash and to be able to do _more_? Hells yeah!

"You really don't have a choice." Gavin's tone is somewhat sympathetic. "You've already started to show the signs of magical inclination."

"Such as?" Stiles says. "I'd like to be prepared in the event of anything… well, anything _else_ happening."

"Your phone," Gavin gestures to the dead appliance. "We wizards are incapable of using anything that's much newer than the 1970s. And sometimes that's pushing it. You're lucky that jeep out there is so ancient."

"Hey!" Stiles protests. But he knows Gavin's right… he just doesn't like to hear his baby being insulted. Derek snorts and Stiles glares at him.

"That explains the microwave," Scott adds. "Better not try the computer."

"Oh, _no_." Stiles begins to panic. "How am I supposed to finish my English paper now? Shit, I was almost finished, too. Scott, could you…"

"Yeah, that's another thing." Gavin says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You're not going to like this..."

"I haven't liked _any_ of this!" Stiles exclaims. Which, ok, not totally true, but he figures only Derek and Scott can pick up on his lie. Although with the way Alys is watching him… Stiles shudders and she smirks, again. Seriously, what is it with these people? She seems to only have one expression, like Derek only has one sound… is it a side effect of being supernatural and inclined toward the creepy side of life?

"First lesson, don't interrupt your mentor." Rick says. And yes, he's Rick now. He'll be Rick whenever Stiles is frustrated with him and his… frustrating-ness. He's not thinking at his best, okay? He's tired and still hasn't had his coffee.

Which, as soon as this hell storm blows over for the night (because his dad will be home soon and these people, Scott excluded, need to _leave_), he is totally getting. Because a man – wizard, sheesh – has needs. And coffee is one of them.

"Yes, sensei," He mumbles. Gavin kind of grins at him and Stiles gets the sinking feeling that he may have just created a monster. Or he's going to be punished in some really creative magical capacity for his insubordination.

Shit.

"So uh, when do we start?" He asks, rolling his shoulders in feigned nonchalance.

But before Gavin can respond, the front door is literally kicked open and there's a pair of creatures even _more_ ugly than the toad thing. Gavin jumps up and grabs his staff in one hand, the other going up in front of him and _glowing-_and_-oh-holy-shit_-_this-just-got-real_.

Alys is hissing and baring fangs that would make Scott and Derek jealous, her eyes swirling and sparks flying off of her. And Derek and Scott? They are wolfed out and Derek has a clawed hold on his arm (_ow_!) and has wedged Stiles in between himself and Scott.

The creatures at the door _smile_ and then charge.

And if Stiles thought getting through high school was going to be rough... heh, at this rate, he'll be lucky to survive the night.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So sorry for the delay! This chapter took forever to write (and I'm really not all that pleased with it to be honest.) Good news is that the next one is mostly done so it shouldn't be too long before that one gets posted. Thanks so much for the lovely and insightful reviews, guys! Just remember… be patient and all will be revealed in good time.

Chapter Four:

It turns out that Gavin is a lying liar who lies. Because apparently Alys isn't the only fairy with a thing for Derek (or Stiles, it seems) and the universe is so getting a good laugh at their expense. Stiles hopes there is some seriously good karma headed his way because they deserve it. And ok, so Gavin didn't lie so much as he omitted things. Important things. Which, in Stiles' book, is pretty much the same thing.

The next few minutes after the newest evil supernatural things Kool Aide through his door (and, again, what is it with theses creatures just barging into his home like this? He needs to invest in some mountain ash – stat) go something like this:

The battle itself is short and really, really bloody. Stiles remembers seeing the first creature actually _explode_ from a blast that Alys sends its way, pieces of it flinging outward to land on her _face_ – and then remembers promptly turning away and throwing up onto Derek's boots.

That doesn't go well, either.

Stiles winces, glancing up at Derek's completely annoyed expression, but quickly turns when the second creature shrieks and throws a fireball (_what?!_) back at them. Scott goes down, dragging Stiles with him. Derek and Alys reach the creature at the same time and – each of them holding a limb – _pull._ Derek drops his half and shakes his claws clean. Alys, on the other hand – pun totally, creepily intended – _licks_ away the gore from her hands and then whines when Gavin tells her to not eat any of it.

Stiles spends a good fifteen minutes after that doubled over and dry heaving. He'd already emptied out the pop tarts in the first round.

The clean up doesn't take long. Alys does some wicked magic stuff and the whole house – microwave, unfortunately, not included – looks like nothing even happened.

"Well," Stiles says. "That was… exciting. Let's do that again never, yeah?"

Scott nods his agreement, still watching Alys and Gavin with a wary face. Alys continues looking around the kitchen with a focused, pinched expression on her brow. It makes Stiles overly curious which, given how his day has been going, is not a good thing.

Because seriously, the debacle that has occurred in his house today will forever be seared in his brain as The Day Shit Went to Hell (Part Two). It's hard to top Scott getting bitten and turned into a freaking werewolf – sorry, lycanthrope – though Stiles suspects these two events are more closely related than he's been able to pinpoint. Yet.

He's pretty sure he'll have a working theory by the end of the week. Or after he gets some coffee.

"Coffee." He hears himself mumble and makes a half-hearted attempt toward the pantry. But there's a firm shove against his chest and he's suddenly sitting down on the couch and – whoa – there's a cup of coffee in his hands before he has time to even voice a complaint about Derek manhandling him _again_ (though honestly, he doesn't mind it too much… which is just something else to add to his list of bad life choices.) And he…

Oh sweet lord, he is so going to marry Derek, the barer of all things caffeinated and delicious and… wow, when had Derek had time to make coffee? Dude has mad ninja skills in multiple areas, apparently. Good to know. And no, Stiles totally doesn't (does) think of how those skills can be applied in the bedroom. Teenager – it's expected.

Stiles takes a sip and nearly spits out the bitter liquid because holy shit, apparently no one ever taught Derek how to actually _make _coffee.

It's like drinking mud colored gasoline.

Stiles glances down at his mug just to make sure.

Nope, that's coffee. And it's caffeine. Stiles takes another sip and grimaces his way through it. When he glances up, Derek is watching him closely. Stiles sends him a tentative smile and a thumbs up.

Stiles chokes on his next mouthful of coffee (and seriously, why is he _still_ drinking this? Oh, right, because he can't stand the thought of Derek looking like a wounded puppy if he doesn't. Not that he thinks Derek _would_, but he's convinced that it would put Scott's kicked puppy look to shame. Because, come on, it's Derek. And someone that hot should not look pathetic. The universe couldn't handle it.)

Derek looks pleased, though, so Stiles keeps sipping at the liquid until the alpha turns away and then he full on grimaces, which causes Scott to snort. They share a look, but are saved from having to explain their misplaced amusement when Alys breaks the silence.

"Those little interlopers." Four pairs of eyes train themselves onto her as she stares at the kitchen with a look of wonder and frustration on her face. "Sneaky, tricky little rebels."

And then nothing. The creepy, blue-skinned fairy goes silent.

"Uh, what?" Stiles prompts. Because seriously, who says shit like that (other than Derek) and just leaves it hanging? Not cool.

Alys shoots him a sly smile, but her response is for Gavin. "The little ones have been here. We should have known. It's far too early, even for… one such as our lovely."

"Hmm," Gavin nods, staring at her for a moment before turning to Stiles. "Looks like you've got some interesting allies." Then he claps his hands together and looks at Alys. "Well, my dear, we should be leaving them now."

"Whoa, whoa… hold up just a second." Stiles gets up, coming forward and crossing his arms over his chest. "That's it? No explanation, no clarification of the creepy code shit you've been spouting out back and forth? _Who's_ been here? In case you didn't remember this is kind of my house and I have a right to know who – or what – has been here."

Alys is completely ignoring him again, focusing on Derek and trying to actually _pet_ him. Derek is looking positively murderous, a low warning growl echoing from his chest. It shouldn't make Stiles totally distracted and turned on, but it does. Luckily, the coffee has kicked in and he shakes his head, turning his focus back to Gavin.

"Come on, Gavin. Throw me a bone, here."

The warden sighs, shaking his head. "There's so much, Stiles. So much I can't tell you. For now…" He squares his shoulders, raising his gaze to meet Stiles' head on. "be aware that you have allies. The microwave, the phone… those were the result of other magic. Your own latent abilities just tipped it over the edge."

"So, what," Stiles says, because he isn't stupid and this is all starting to makes sense (oh, god, what is his life? Why does he suddenly _understand_ this shit?) "You're saying that some fairies – small ones, I'm guessing, from what Alys said – came in here and cleaned my house for me? And they left some sort of magical residue that imploded when I made contact with it? Am I some sort of faerie magnet now?"

"In a round about over simplified way… yes." Gavin says. "You're nowhere near strong enough to have done all that damage on your own. Well… maybe the cell phone." Gavin shrugs.

And that is… strangely comforting, actually. Which is just another sign of how fucked his life has become because when _that_ becomes a comfort? Stiles cannot even think about what the rest of his life, let alone this week, will hold.

"I need to sit down." Scott says, a strange, overwhelmed look on his face. And, really? None of this has anything to do with Scott (he thinks) so why does Scott get to be the one who can act like a damsel in distress? Not that Stiles is a damsel. Or in distress. He's just… really, really, tired, suddenly. Stiles sighs and catches sight of Alys advancing on a rapidly agitated Derek.

"Alys," Gavin snaps, and then mutters a word in a language that Stiles has never heard before. The Fae woman flinches and then moves to stand beside Gavin, a pout on her face but her eyes… her eyes are swirling in rage. Literally. Swirling.

It's making Stiles a little (a lot) nervous. He may or may not inch closer to Scott and Derek.

But then the look is gone as quickly as it appeared and she smiles.

"We will see you anon, lovely." She says, dipping her head in farewell. And then she and Gavin walk out the front door – which kind of weirds him out, honestly, because normal shit is so not _his_ normal anymore – and leave. He doesn't hear a car, doesn't see anything, and doesn't even want to think about how or where they're going. He doesn't. If he gets one more thing to process today, his brain might literally melt and then where would that leave him? With Scott or Derek as the voice of reason, that's where, and that is so not happening today or any day that ends in Y.

"Shit," Scott says. Derek glares at him and goes over to the window to watch the yard like an actual guard dog. Stiles almost snickers, but he's had too many close calls today and he'd like to make it through dinner unscathed, thank you.

Which brings him to realize that his father will be home any – right now, actually. The sound of the car door makes them all jump and Stiles sighs, sinking down next to Scott on the couch.

"Guess you're staying for dinner."

Derek tenses. "No."

"Oh come on, dude. I promise he won't shoot you." Derek's brow quivers. "Ok, I promise he won't shoot you where you won't be able to heal it." Scott makes a whimpering noise and then buries his face in his hands.

"I am so not here." Stiles hears him mumble.

"Stiles?" The sheriff's voice echoes through the kitchen. Two seconds later his father is standing at the entrance to the living room, hand on his gun, eyes zeroed in on Derek and a very displeased – read, pissed – expression on his face.

"Stiles," He repeats, but the pleasant tone is gone. "Care to explain what the hell is going on?"

"Hi, Mr. Stilinski," Scott offers, but Stiles' father makes no notice that he heard him. His gaze is completely focused on the leather jacket wearing poster child of unlawful conduct lurking in his living room.

"Um," Stiles says, licking his lips as he tries to come up with something plausible. Anything even close to resembling the truth will be scoffed at and probably land him in the mental hospital with three doses of meds a day and… yeah. Not going that route.

"Um," He tries again, scratching at the back of his neck. Derek rolls his shoulders – and his eyes – as he turns to look at Stiles with a '_Well?'_ expression on his stupidly hot face. And Stiles tries to send back a '_Help!_' message with his own face, but it must come across as something else entirely because his dad takes a shuddering breath and then –

"Oh my god." Stiles' dad does have his gun out now. He points a finger at Stiles. "You – grounded for _life_. You –" He turns to Scott, gun still trained on Derek. "I am calling your mother. I am so disappointed in you. From Stiles I … I can expect this sort of deceit. But from you… And Stiles. God, do you even know how old he is? I don't care that he's…" He gestures, "a _he_, but HIM?" He shakes his head.

And yeah, color Stiles confused. Because ok, Derek is a wanted criminal, but he doesn't understand how… oh. _Oh. _

"Dad, it isn't…" And apparently Derek has caught on and his eyes go huge.

"Sheriff…" Derek starts.

"No!" The sheriff points his gun at Derek (who, to his credit, doesn't flinch so much as wince.) "Do you have any idea how old he is? Not even seventeen! You're an adult, Derek, do you know what that means?"

"Dad!"

"No, Stiles! Scott – go home."

Scott stands and looks torn, eyes darting from each person in the room before landing back on Stiles and he looks so damn confused. "Stiles, you're not…"

"No, I'm not! We're not… he's not! Dad – he's our _friend_. Oh my god!"

And there's a stunned silence on the part of everyone. Sheriff Stilinski blinks, put his gun away and clears his throat.

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. God, dad… if I were bringing a guy home, I would definitely tell you first."

"And it wouldn't be Derek Hale." Scott pipes in helpfully. And well… Stiles can't really refute that because his dad would go apeshit – and he's pretty sure Derek would kill him, too – but he wouldn't _mind_ bringing Derek home under those circumstances. Or more mutually pleasing ones, either. And oh, god, his brain needs to calm the hell down.

"Because Stiles isn't gay… are you?" Scott asks.

"I think it's time everyone went home." The sheriff replies, moving and grabbing Scott's arm and dragging him out the door.

"Because I thought Lydia… oh, you're bi, right?" Scott continues, voice fading as the door shuts and Stiles just groans, burying his face in his hands.

A warm hand on his shoulder breaks him from his attempt to shrink into the floor (which he is so getting Gavin to teach him). Stiles looks up to see Derek staring at him with an odd, unfamiliar look on his face. The alpha says nothing, just squeezes his hand once and then he's gone out the back door. Stiles blinks, thrown off for the hundredth time today. His father comes back into the room, looking as confused as he feels, but apparently relieved that Derek is gone.

"So," The sheriff says, apparently deciding to forgo any more awkward conversations. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, because he just can't muster the energy for anything else right now and his stomach is rumbling because he hasn't managed to eat _anything_ today that he hasn't managed to throw up right after. "Dinner."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So sorry for the delay… enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing!

Chapter Five:

Stiles is buried in a veritable mountain of books. And yeah, unlike most teenagers, Stiles _enjoys _research. A lot. Like most teenagers, however, Stiles has a really short attention span and an unhealthy love for the internet. Which, wouldn't you know it, _none of this information is available on_. Not that he could even use it if it was. Stupid wizards and their lack of ability to use technology.

When Stiles had learned he was a wizard, this was not what he'd had in mind.

Not that he'd had much in mind beyond some vague Harry Potter references and wanting to blow shit up. Now that he's actually had time to think about it – and some serious sleep and caffeine – Stiles is both terrified and absolutely stoked by the possibilities of what his latent abilities are. He has spent the past three days tossing ideas around in his brain, alternating between planning, freaking out, and jotting down notes in his new, shiny red spiral (Scott's idea of a consolatory gift in lieu of the loss of his computer. Stiles had been less than amused.)

The first fifteen or so pages of the notebook are full of Stiles' scratchy scrawl, thoughts and images and words that mesh together from his brain and things that Derek or Lydia have mentioned.

Which is a lot, actually. They're all more than a little suspicious of Gavin and Alys. Stiles wants to trust them, he really does. But Derek stiffens every time they come around and it's just… one too many coincidences. Things are not adding up, so he's resorted to the only way he knows how to fix things: Research.

He's also running out of excuses to not practice or study with Gavin. The guy has been hovering – but so has Derek, which seems to make Gavin more annoyed than amused. Currently he's taking a bit of a break to do some research of his own (aka backing off so that the resident alpha doesn't eviscerate him).

So that's how Stiles finds himself sitting in the Beacon Hills library on a Saturday afternoon. Scott is sitting beside him, pouting about Allison's family's impromptu vacation. Derek is making a reluctant but crucial coffee run, so Stiles has no one to glare Scott into silence about the topic.

"I mean, it isn't like she had to go, you know? She could have backed out of it. I think it's her way of punishing me. What do you think?"

Stiles is gnawing on his pencil, brow furrowing deeper as he struggles to follow the intricate script on the page of Derek's family bestiary.

"Are you even listening to me?" Scott whacks him in the arm.

"Ouch!" Stiles glares at him, rubbing his smarting limb. "Manage the strength, buddy."

"Sorry. But do you think that's the case?"

"She's not punishing you." Stiles says, turning back to his reading. "It's just a vacation."

"Doesn't feel like a vacation." Scott huffs. "I need food. You want anything?"

Stiles shakes his head and doesn't look up as Scott leaves to find the vending machine. Considering it's Scott's first venture into the library he'll be surprised if it doesn't take him a half hour to figure out there is no vending machine. Well, there _is_ one, but it's in the basement.

And, knowing Scott, he won't find it.

"Excuse me," a soft voice says. Stiles blinks and looks up from the bestiary. There's a woman – probably around Derek's age – standing across from him. She's holding a large encyclopedia in both hands and staring at him over the top of it with a shy smile. Trendy black-rim glasses frame her blue eyes while her strawberry blonde hair is coifed neatly in a loose bun.

She looks a lot like Lydia, actually.

"Can I help you?" Stiles taps the pencil on the book, leaning forward to cover the content with his arms.

"Is this seat taken?" She gestures to the chair across from Stiles. And… this wouldn't be in the least bit suspicious if there was anyone else in the library. But there isn't – even the librarian is somehow MIA – and there are like, a dozen other tables available.

"Nope." He shakes his head, slamming the book shut and pulling it closer. His other hand comes up to grab the red notebook.

"Oh – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." She blushes, clutching the encyclopedia tighter. "I can sit somewhere else…"

As she moves to walk away, Stiles feels like a giant jerk for brushing her off. Just because everything else in his life has been a supernatural beasty intent on killing him or just fucking up his day in general, doesn't mean that's what's going on here.

Or it is, and he's just that gullible.

"It's fine. No one's sitting there."

She smiles and her whole face lights up with the gesture. In a flash she's sitting in the chair, the leather-bound tome in her hands placed gently on the table.

"Thanks. I hate working alone, it makes me…"

A subsonic growl from the door of the library makes them both jump and Stiles is first annoyed because, geez Derek, could you be any more rude – but also, holy cow Derek is _flipping his shit_.

This cannot be good.

The two cups of coffee in Derek's hands have been absolutely crushed, unable to withstand either the pressure of his grip or the impalement of claws into their styrofoam sides. And – yep. Derek has wolfed out. His fangs are barred as he snarls, alpha-red eyes focused laser intent on the woman across from Stiles.

The woman stands, eyes narrowed, but then she's gasping for air as Derek literally leaps across the room and has her by the throat in three seconds flat. He roars in her face, shaking her like a rag doll and Stiles is at once both turned on by Derek (because he has serious kink issues, apparently) and worried because the woman looks terrified and isn't doing anything to fight back.

"Derek!" Stiles hisses.

"Grr." Derek growls, slanting a brief glance at him.

"Words, Derek." Stiles tries again.

"Where the fuck is McCall?"

"Looking for the vending machine."

"There isn't a…"

"I know."

There's a pause, and then, "Are you alright?"

"Yep. Peachy. In fact, unless she's about to kill us both, you should probably put her down."

"Stiles – "

"Derek."

The alpha turns his full gaze on him, clearly pissed and hackles still raised. Stiles stares back, feeling his heart thundering. But come on – she hadn't done anything when she'd had the chance and now that Derek's here…

"Fine." Derek spits and drops the woman. She stumbles back, head dipped low in deference.

"My apologies," She says, voice a little rough from the extreme hold Derek had on her throat. "If I had known he was your mate, I wouldn't have…"

Derek's low growl is different this time and even darker than before. She stops talking and glances over at Stiles who is doing his best to imitate a goldfish.

"Um," She says instead.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Derek says, deflecting as usual. Stiles stares at him with wide eyes because – Mate? _Mate_? They aren't even really friends! – aren't they going to talk about this? Fuck yes they're going to talk about this. As soon as they're alone, Stiles is going to get a shit ton of answers. Or else.

He's a wizard. He'll come up with something. Maybe he could turn Derek into an actual wolf. Or a Corgi. Oh, he'd be adorable as a Corgi…

Stiles loses his train of thought as the woman answers.

"My name is Laila." She chances a glance over at Stiles, but her gaze returns to Derek when he growls again, stepping into her line of sight. Stiles huffs, moving around the table so that he can see her; Derek shifts to continue standing mostly in his way.

"I'm here as a favor to a family friend. There's a long story, but suffice to say, I'm here to help Stiles."

"Help me how?" Stiles interjects.

"This is going to sound crazy –" She starts. Stiles snorts and she smiles a little. "Ok, maybe you're used to crazy with" she gestures to Derek, "all of this going on. But you need to know, magic is real and there is evidence you've got some skill. When Deaton called, we didn't…"

"Wait," Stiles interrupts. "Deaton called you?" And ok, so he actually trusts Deaton. He'll have to get Scott to confirm this with his boss, but if this woman is really who she says she is, then they can trust her, too.

Laila nods. "Yeah. Actually, he called Billy, but he's a bit preoccupied right now. I was the only one he could spare so here I am. I'm not much, but I do have some latent abilities myself and I'm more than willing to help."

"Ok… back up. Who is Billy? What…"

"Start. Explaining." Derek bites out. He isn't wolfed out anymore, but his eyes are still flashing red whenever he talks.

"All right." Laila steps back away from them and takes off her glasses, setting them on the table. "Don't… freak out or anything." She unwraps the scarf from around her neck and shakes out her hair. "I'm a werewolf as well as a practitioner. I'm not a wizard, but I'm part of the network. Long story short, we've all been working together to help win a war. I'm here to help you learn the ropes so that you can join in the fight. We're short on numbers, we can use the help."

She pauses. "Ready?"

"Um, for what?" Stiles hedges. She smiles and then literally – poof! Laila is gone and there's a ruddy brown wolf standing in her place. It's freaking huge, kind of like the ones from those Twilight movies (oh, hush – he'd been doing research!) and it's staring at Derek with a wary expression in its – her – face.

"Holy shit." Stiles breathes. Derek growls.

Then, just as quickly, Laila shifts back to human. Very, very naked human.

"That… was… awesome!" Stiles exclaims. Derek turns an expression on him that can only be described as wounded. "Oh come on, Derek… even you can admit that was badass."

Derek huffs, but he just crosses his arms across his chest. Stiles puts a placating hand on his shoulder and Derek visibly relaxes into the touch. Stiles catalogues that reaction away into his 'analyze the shit out of this later' folder.

"Any questions?" She asks. Derek just glowers and Stiles gapes.

"I don't even know where to start." He says.

"I do. Could someone get me a coat? Or a blanket?"

And… oh, right. She's still naked. It's a testament to how Stiles' brain is still focused on the information overload – and Derek – to how he had completely forgotten that little tidbit of information. He moves to offer her his hoodie, but Derek's hand on his arm stops him. The alpha shakes his head and reaches over to pluck Scott's jacket from the back of his chair. He hands it to her, then moves back to stand in Stiles' personal space.

"Are you here alone?" Derek asks. Laila nods, starting to slide the coat on.

"Yes. Like I said, Billy couldn't spare anyone else. I was surprised he even agreed to send me. But he owed Deaton, so here I am."

"So you're not here with Gavin and Alys?"

Laila frowns. "Who?"

"They-"

His next words are cut off by the reappearance of Scott.

"Stiles, how can this place not have a vending machine? That's total crap! And – holy shit! Why is there a naked woman in the library?"

Derek whirls around and as soon as Scott is within reach, he tosses him over the table and into the non-fiction section. Scott yelps as he collides with the reshelving cart.

"What'd I do?!" He yells.

"You know what you did!" Derek snaps.

Laila meets Stiles' gaze over Derek's shoulder and she smiles.

"Mates." She whispers, shaking her head. Stiles blinks because, yeah, he still has no idea what she's going on about and –

"Wait – mates?" Scott's indignant now. "What the hell is going on?"


End file.
